Nesting

– Felix

Nest-building. It wasn’t something Felix had ever worried about. He knew the basics, and what with all his migration plans he’d never needed to care about the finer points before. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t as nervous as everyone else seemed to be. Maybe nerves themselves took preparation.

“This is your last lesson in construction,” Ms was saying as they flew to the mudflats after the morning’s class. “Any time after today the henlings can call a snap assessment.” In an apparent attempt to make the short flight feel endless she droned further: about how this was such a difficult time of life, and how some of them were punching above their weight.

“Yes, Ms,” they all chorused dutifully.

How hard could it be? Surely Amelia would like whatever he put together. Love me, love my nest.

“And then there’s your zed^cubed dimension-jump to zed^quadded.”

Oh. The space-to-space-time conversion. That hard.

He smelt the mudflats before he saw them. A glorious stink, a black expanse. He circled carefully, even managing to twist his head to look around without serious wobbling. Something close to the mud supply ought to do it, but not so close that high tide made it a risky place to raise Amelia’s eggs. And a tree strong enough to hold up in high winds, leafy enough to provide cover—

“…so if you’ll only follow that one final rule,” —Felix heard Stormfeather say— “then I’ll have taught you well enough.”

“Yes, Ms.” He wondered what he’d missed this time.

“Now get down there,” she said. “This is what nature has selected you for—to build a nest for your hen. You’re going to love it!”

He took stock of his surroundings before eyeing off branches—measuring them for height above high tide, distance from the best mud, strength for support, and leaves for protection from the sun. He chose one that was good enough, and headed to the levee, sifting through the gravel to find the all-important keystone: a pebble of the exact type and size needed to convert three dimensional space into four-dimensional space-time fabric.

Feathers came next. He shook himself, collecting the soft feathers that detached, before combing the treeline for strays, tearing ibis feathers into smaller pieces, even making fair game of kestrel and eagle feathers. Everything went into their cockpurses.

Finally he was ready to start ferrying mud. It took hundreds of trips to the tidal mudbanks and back to fetch enough of it, carrying the sticky, stinking gloop in both feet (and once—when he caught sight of a delicious burrower just begging to be eaten—even in the beak). Felix used his breast as a delicate tool to shape it just right, losing himself in the pleasure of his work, his beak occasionally moving with the effort of thinking through the physics.

The sun beat down but the mud was cool. And thoughts of Amelia kept him focussed.

“One hour left,” Stormfeather called.

Half the afternoon gone already. Felix took a breath and stepped back to survey his work. He caught Orville’s eye.

“Looking good, Bumpy,” Orville said. “Surprisingly good actually.”

“Yours too,” Felix said. “I like what you did with there with the stick. Is it a step?”

“Yep.” Orville puffed up. “I got the idea from looking at the way sea-eagles build their nests. I can’t wait for Durba to see it.”

The sun’s rays, almost horizontal this near to the end of the day, stabbed Felix’s eyes. The entrance needed a touchup, the base could have done with another layer of mud; but the last of the moisture was evaporating, and he still had to make the feather lining for thermal control. He went back to work, prodding and smoothing as best he could.

“Thirty minutes,” Stormfeather called.

It would be a close enough thing. Felix squeezed himself into the tight space of the nest, placed his keystone, and set to work on the radiating curves, adjusting them, tweaking the physics, making minute shifts of alignment to the pebble.

The work made him even hotter in the confined space. When he’d done all he could stand it for he climbed out for the last few tweaks.

“Time,” Stormfeather called.

“Did we all finish?” Bert asked.

“I think so,” Felix replied. “But I didn’t get to go back in, so I don’t know if the dimension jumped.”

“Me neither,” Orville added.

Felix judged his friends’ work: Orville’s nest looked really small on the outside. Bert’s looked bigger, but the shell looked rough; and Wilbur’s had a crooked base that would make the eggs roll to one side. He looked at his own magnum opus while Ms inspected each nest one by one and passed judgement. He heard her tell Wilbur about the sloping base, and Orville about the size.

“But you got your z^quadded right, Orville, your leap to the fourth dimension; and that’s what counts. It’s a very good nest. Your mate would have made you fix that z^cubed smallness during construction in real life. Well done.”

“Very nice, Bumpy,” she said with obvious surprise when she got to his. “After this morning’s loss of focus in class, you’ve done a particularly good job. I can’t fault this at all. And your z^quadded is to be commended. This nest is positively cavernous inside.

“However,” she looked down at his breast, “I can’t say the same for you at all! Look at you. You’re a mess!” Felix heard a snigger from somewhere behind him. “And that goes for you too, Douglas Douglas,” Stormfeather said without even looking to see the sniggerer. “All of you. You stink. Can I suggest when you’re courting, you bathe before your presentation? But,” she continued grudgingly, “despite that, all of you cocks have done a very good job, and I’m pleasantly surprised at the high standard.”

“Beginner’s luck,” Douglas Douglas whispered to Felix. “If I was you I wouldn’t be thinking you’ll be able to do that again when it counts.”